A Year Without Autumn
by AndSheWasBeautiful
Summary: A series of Rivetra drabbles and oneshots. Rating may go up as time progresses.
1. Close

The first time she woke up next to him, she rolled herself awake as her head met with the cold, packed earth beneath them. She was nose to nose with him, the softening of his features in sleep enough to make her breath catch in her throat and her heart to begin to pound against her ribcage. She didn't know at what point of the night they had unconsciously sought each other out - they had gone to sleep the previous evening in their own blankets, lying side by side.

Now the blankets had become intertwined, as had his fingers with her hair, her head resting just below the arm he had thrown over her at some point during the night. Her palm was lying flat against his chest, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing making her smile softly to herself, as she thought of this man, notoriously known as a killing machine, innocent as a child in this moment.

Her heart shudders in her chest, and she decides to throw caution to the wind, before allowing herself to close the short distance between them and press a tentative kiss to his cheek.

As he stirs, because of course he was going to, the man is the lightest sleeper left amongst humanity, she jerks back, taking her palm from his chest, and shutting her eyes hastily, her heart hammering in her throat.

Closing her eyes and pretending to sleep, she feels him rub his eyes with his knuckles and no doubt notice he is sheltering her with his arm, as her body slumps close to his.

She has to hide her smile as he shuffles closer.


	2. Slip of the Tongue

They are sitting around the breakfast table a few mornings before the expedition to Shiganshina when it happens.

It has been a while since that day - they have been through so much, their little band of scouting misfits - Mikasa no longer fidgets unbearably when Eren leaves a room for longer than 15 minutes, just as Eren has softened in his bitter jabs at her fussing over him, allowing her to linger at his side with some strange air of gentle understanding between them, that the rest cannot hope to understand. Armin has a strained look about him, like he is constantly running over strategies and plans in his mind, staying up well beyond the rest of their troupe, talking Hanji's enthusiasm down to quiet mutters of frustration. Reiner, Bertholdt, Ymir are somewhere far, enemies among them just as Annie had been all along, and their ability to rely on one another has been pushed beyond belief. Krista is Historia now. Erwin has one arm.

They are not the same as they were during that 57th expedition. They are stronger, more determined that their own lives and the lives of those they have lost will mean something, one day, and they will bring about the end of the titans tyrannical hold on humanity.

They are not the same.

Although, they forget sometimes.

They are sitting around the breakfast table a few mornings before the expedition to Shiganshina when it happens.

Levi is sitting at the top of the table, Eren and Mikasa to his right, Hanji and Jean to his left, Armin walking around the table with a teapot, Sasha with her mouth filled to burst with porridge.

Levi is sipping his tea and leafing through paperwork, when a soft growl of annoyance rumbles from his throat. Eren glances up from his breakfast, brow quirked. Levi rubs his right temple with his index finger, and reaches over for his teacup with his other hand.

"I forgot the address for those supply bastards in Sina," he mutters, setting the cup down. "It doesn't matter, I have it in my office. Petra!"

His voice rings out in the stone room, calm, severe as always and without an instant of hesitation.

The table slips into pained silence, even Sasha setting her spoon down, dark eyes falling to stare at her lap as though it holds the secret to destroying the titans.

Levi stops as soon as the name leaves his lips, his eyes dull and listless, his jaw clenched.

Eren shifts uncomfortably in his chair and Armin sits down at the opposite end of the table, settling the teapot down with a trembling hand.

Levi lifts his teacup and sips, before rolling his eyes and pushing his chair back with a squeal that punctures the tentative atmosphere.

"You can all stop looking at me like I'm a wounded fucking child now," he says, the poison dripping from his words eliciting a shiver from Historia and for the rest of their eyes to look away, finding their breakfasts more fascinating than ever before.

Levi turns and leaves the room, going to fetch that damned address. Upon reaching his room, he finds the damned thing and tears the scrap of paper from the document, folding it over and tucking it into his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing against a bloody badge that sits over his heart, always, in said pocket. He snorts at his own foolish sentimentality and as he leaves the room, decides he may as well be said wounded child he berated them for thinking of him as, for he will never be able to take that badge from his pocket and burn it, along with all those memories and automatic responses he has relating to her.

He takes his seat at the table once more, and they have gone back to their breakfasts and soft chatter and forgotten all about Petra again.

Soon, he will be like them, he tells himself.


	3. Misconception

She sees them side by side, dark heads bent over some 3DMG strategy plan that no doubt it would be life-threatening for any of the rest of them to even attempt.

Levi and Mikasa.

Everything about them from the stoic pictures their faces make, from the way their lips move as they read words is so similar it startles her. They are so alike, and despite the fact they share a last name, she knows stranger things have happened in this world where the human race is failing by the day than cousins getting married.

 _Listen to yourself Petra, they've known each other for half the time that you've known him._

She silently berates herself, sipping her tea and scowling over at them, obviously too blatantly as Levi looks up and after exchanging a few more words with Mikasa, nods sharply, rolling up his papers and walking over to join Petra by the fire, helping herself to the pot of tea she has brewed on the end table beside her chair.

He sips it gingerly, the steam rising from the small cup and darkening his already stormy grey eyes. He wrinkles his nose in distaste before setting it back down.

"Even when all I have to do is pour the shit, it still doesn't taste as good," he mutters in annoyance and Petra gives a tight smile, her eyes flickering back to the fire.

Levi watches her for a moment before sighing and folding his hands in his lap.

"Is there... something the matter Petra?" he asks, not even attempting to hide the fact he couldn't care less if she had a problem but felt socially obligated to question his subordinate. However, it irks him when her usually shining eyes are dark and troubled.

"No."

He is content to take that answer, because honestly, he doesn't have any interest in prying information from Petra's reluctant form. He estimates 3 seconds pass, before she turns her body fiercely from gazing into the fire and stares at him, her cheeks red, perhaps from the heat of the fire, although he suspects something else is responsible from the blush creeping up to her nose.

"Sir, you don't - I mean Mikasa - you don't think she's- I mean, do you-?!"

Levi watches Petra for a moment his brows slightly furrowed in confusion, struggling to see what it is she is driving at. He narrows his eyes and settles back in his armchair, running over a few observations of Erd and Gunter in his mind before squinting at Petra in apparent distaste.

"Petra... Mikasa is fifteen years old."

Petra pales, her blush fading in moments and she smiles, small at first and then starts to laugh, clasping a hand over her mouth as she admits a tiny snort and soon she has doubled over in her chair, her eyes streaming with tears and Levi is left sipping his tea and watching her like she is some sort of wild animal.

"I'm sorry Captain," she manages between giggles, "I didn't mean to imply you were a pervert!"

Levi raises a brow, watching Petra with dark eyes.

"Watch it," he mutters.

He can't help himself but glance at her face one more time and decide, with certainty, that no matter the age, he'll always prefer copper hair to dark.

* * *

 **So this is set in an AU where Petra survives the 57th expedition, as I don't think Levi appreciated Mikasa's skill with 3DMG until he saw her use it in that forest. I'm as fascinated by their super-human relationship as I am with Petra/Levi's relationship! Hopefully, you like these little snippets so far. I have a few more in the pipeline, so if you enjoyed, please drop me a review. Much appreciated. If you have any prompts or themes you'd like me to write about, include those and I will do my best to write them!**


	4. Caught in the Act

Her back is flat against the wall, his hands fisted in her reddish golden hair and he curses himself for the rumble that escapes his throat as his lips mash against her own and she emits the most tempting little moan.

It is all he can do to break away from her for one moment to draw breath, taking in the rosy blush across her cheeks, the way her unusually dark lashes cast shadows as they flutter open over the burning ochre of her eyes, the soft pout of her pink lips, the hypnotic rise and fall of her chest - before he seizes her lips with his own again, desperate for another taste of her salty sweetness.

"Captain... Captain," she is breathing the word between heated kisses, like the mewl of a small animal and it is driving him wild with desire, so much that he shoves his thigh between her own and rips his lips away to trail hot kisses up her neck to her ear lobe where he kisses it softly.

"Levi... call me Levi when we're alone... fuck, call me Levi whenever you want," he says, his voice a low hum making a shiver of pleasure run down her spine as he draws her lips back to his own, his hand falling from her hair to run its way down the curve of her hip to squeeze just at the swell when he hears the pained yelp.

Petra's eyes have shot open and she is frozen in place, her eyes focused on the doorway. Levi rolls his eyes and concentrates on fixing Petra's hair where he has mussed it, settling it back into place, his lip curling into a sneer.

"If that's you Jaeger, I'd start shovelling out the stables now - you'll need plenty of alone time to forget what you've just seen."

The scurry of boots and the slam of the door suggest to Levi that it was in fact the runt Eren Jaeger and Petra's soft giggle as she relaxes back against the wall causes him to lean forward, his nose touching the tip of her own, his eyes dark with desire.

"Now. Where were we?"

* * *

 **Toeing the line of that T rating there. Let me know if there is a demand for M rated drabbles and I will up the rating in a little while if that's what y'all are down for. To all my reviewers - thank you so much. I really appreciate every comment. Hope you enjoyed!**


	5. Tea Time

It must be 2 o'clock in the morning and she is hunched over a mug of tea in the kitchen, her hair pooling around her shoulders as she grasps said mug with white knuckles.

She is bouncing her knees to protect her heels from the freezing tiles of the floor and she sniffs into the silence, her swollen eyes refusing to spill any more tears, her cheeks long dry. She is simply in pain now, staring into her mug, shoulders hunched and elbows tucked into her sides against the chill in the air.

She doesn't hear him enter, only sees the light from his candle as Levi Ackerman opens the kitchen door.

She starts so much that she jumps to her feet, knocking her mug over just enough to slosh a good amount of tea across the hard oak of the table, before she can grab it, burning her fingers in the process.

"C-Captain," she stammers, her usually warm voice brittle and high-pitched.

"Petra... need a hand?"

His voice is low and she has never noticed the edge of warmth - perhaps she is feeling so cold it is only especially evident here, tonight. She glances at the spilt liquid and almost smiles at his compulsion towards cleanliness, managing only a slight quirk as though her lips have forgotten how to do it.

"Yes, thank you."

She sits back down as she watches him set his candle down on the table, going to the sink and lifting out a clean rag to mop up the tea. She watches him meticulously yet swiftly clean it up, and she notes how his skills on the battlefield are almost unparalleled to anything but his cleaning skills. When finished, he throws the rag in the sink, dries his hands and goes to boil the kettle again. He goes to Petra's mug and lifts it, judging the heat of the liquid quickly. He throws it in the sink too.

"A fresh cup, I think," he says, turning to prepare the teapot as she busies herself with watching the flicker of his candle.

There is something disconcertingly soothing about Levi's presence, going about the most menial of tasks with careful precision and minimal effort. She feels the tension leave her shoulders, and she makes a soft noise of appreciation when Levi returns her cup to the table and pours hot, dark tea.

He sets milk and honey down in front of her, and she finds the smile filter onto her face as she watches him wipe his fingers on the dry dishcloth from before, his nose wrinkling in distaste. She doesn't know if he has brought a smile to her face because he remembered she likes a dollop of honey to sweeten her tea, or the fact he brought if for her despite the fact he hates the stuff, and how it sticks to his fingers and hands.

Perhaps she is smiling for both reasons, but nonetheless it is more than she has done all day.

He stirs his own tea, his dark, harrowing eyes rising to look at her sharply as he blows the steam from the rim of his own cup and sips. He winces at the bitterness, but will be damned if he touches the honey pot again. He sets it down, and she pulls it over to her side, spooning honey in for him. He tilts his head and watches her, nodding his head in thanks when she returns the cup.

He sips again. His lips quirk.

"Much better. I'll never understand how you do that Petra."

She shrugs.

"Touch the honey, or put just enough in?"

"Both?"

She snorts, adding the sweet mix to her own tea and stirring, before clutching at the mug again with the same cold fingers. Levi moves the candle in closer.

"So. Can't sleep?"

She shakes her head, hoping her eyes do not betray too many of the tears she has shed of late.

He leans back in the chair, which squeals in discomfort as he does.

"Me neither."

"Levi, you never sleep," she says softly, taking a long drink of tea and continuing to avert his gaze.

"Not true. I rarely sleep," he replies, his voice just as soft, as the two attempt to remain soft spoken to avoid waking their other companions. Petra nods in consent.

"Okay - you rarely sleep. Me neither these days."

Levi pauses for a moment, perhaps contemplating what she has just said before she hears a deep sigh.

"I wish I could say it gets better to watch fellow scouts die. It doesn't. It still makes me angry, to the point that I end up blacking out and before I know it six abnormals are dead and I need a 3 hour shower and a new uniform."

She nods in response to his words, wondering how the untouchable Levi Ackerman manages to remain so cold and indifferent in these late might meetings, yet somehow make her feel endlessly better. She feels helpless and angry that it has come to this, to Levi finding her sobbing in the freezing kitchen in the early hours of the morning. She takes her hands off the mug and settles them, palms down on the table, her eyes stinging with tears of frustration. She is poised to stand and excuse herself when she feels the smooth touch of a hand atop hers and a voice, the same deadpan monotone she is so familiar with, coloured with warmth.

"Petra."

She raises her eyes to look at him properly for the first time, refusing to allow more tears to fall as his hand curls around her own and clenches her fingers tightly. Her heart feels like it is going to burst from her chest and she hates herself for loving this man so much his very presence is enough to make her head pound and the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

He tilts his head, looking uncomfortable with contact and so fantastically Levi that she smiles, properly, and raises her other hand to rub at her eyes again. She breathes out in one long slow breath.

"I'm alright. I'm alright," she assures him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He squeezes her hand again.

"Good. Stop rubbing your eyes, you look like Gunter in high summer," he says dryly, and she giggles, high and sweet and he stands, leaning forwards on the table, his hand still resting over hers and takes the back of her coppery head in his other hand, pressing his lips to the top of her forehead. She sighs, a strange calm settling over her body as he inhales gently.

"Your hair smells so clean..." he says, his voice not betraying an inkling of what she can feel radiating from him. He lifts her chin and eyes her seriously.

"Bed. Come on." He lifts the candle and goes to move, as she sniffs and grabs his cup and her own to put in the sink. He snorts.

"Don't do a job half-assed. If you're not going to clean them now, they might as well sit on the table."

She laughs at him and does just that, moving swiftly to his side to benefit from the light of the candle as they walk.

She breathes in his presence as he pushes open his bedroom door and blows out the candle, surrendering her sadness to the light of the moon.

* * *

 **This one turned into a full blown oneshot there... I got carried away because REMINDER that Levi is not a heartless killing machine - yes he is stoic and serious and I believe because of his upbringing he isn't very good with people and therefore some of his jokes and Levi-isms are kind of weird to regular people - BUT HE STILL CARES ABOUT HIS TEAM MATES. I could go on about where we see this, but y'all know that already right? Let me know if you enjoyed this!**


	6. Illlness

She hacks another chicken bone off the carcass, and angrily throws it into the pot of boiling water and vegetables. She continues until the whole carcass has been crushed, the marrow exposed, bleeding flavour into the hot water, and she stabs at the liquid with a wooden spoon, checking the clock on the other side of the warm little kitchen.

Auruo is at the door, his eyes tightened with worry.

"Petra, what are you doing?"

She doesn't reply right away, continuing to stir the stock, throwing in a bundle of herbs and a pinch of salt, leaning over and sniffing deeply. The scowl is still deeply set on her normally delicate features, and Auruo leans against the doorframe, his arms folded, and sighs.

"We brought him dinner a few hours ago. Chicken, potatoes. If he's hungry-"

"He hasn't eaten in _four_ days, Auruo. He _refuses_."

Petra is not facing him, her shoulders hunched up as her hands grip the countertop before the boiling pot of chicken soup, her voice trembling as she tries to hide her emotions. Auruo frowns.

"What?"

"He's been throwing it all away. Out the window. He practically has a compost heap outside his bedroom window. He won't eat, and when I confronted him he wouldn't tell me-"

"Hey there, Petra relax!"

She has turned, her hands shaking, her eyes stinging with tears of frustration and babbled the words to him, and he moves to her side as she can barely breathe, her breaths quick and fast.

"I'm sorry, but if he doesn't eat..." she trails away, her voice faltering as her soup bubbles along behind them, as Auruo grasps her forearm and helps her steel herself. He doesn't know what to say in response to her revelation, and instead frowns in the direction of her soup.

"It smells good - I think if you bring it to him, he'll have a hard time refusing."

She taps on the door apprehensively, the soup balancing on a small wooden tray, a cup of hot tea next to it. She doesn't hear an invitation to enter, but rolling her eyes she reminds herself that she will be damned if Levi Ackerman continues to behave like such a child.

She pushes on the door and enters the room slowly, alight with only the flickering of one candle. Her captain is asleep, or else he appears to be, pale and thinner than she has ever seen him. She frowns and goes to announce her presence but as she does, Levi cracks open one steely grey eye.

"What do you want?"

"Sir, I've brought you some broth. It's chicken. I left the celery in, how you like it," she adds the last part as an afterthought, her soft speech not the serious, harsh tone she had practiced as she walked, but rather one that betrayed her immense concern over Levi's refusal to eat.

His frown deepens, and he seems to turn a strange shade of green-grey.

"I'm not hungry. I ate."

"Don't lie."

Her voice is sharper then, cutting through the air of sickness around his bed.

Levi Ackerman never gets sick, no matter how many times he is exposed to the harshest of elements, so the fact he has been struck down with such a fearsome bought of pneumonia is enough to make her stomach tie itself into knots three times over a day. She has been worrying herself to the point of such illness, and she knows it as she tucks a lock of coppery hair behind her ear and moves to set the soup down on his nightstand. She looks him dead in the eye.

"I know you haven't been eating. I saw the heap. Why haven't you been eating, Levi?"

Her tone is furtive and she knows her eyes are wide and pathetic, but it is all she can do to clench her fists in her lap and pray that he will just be honest with her. His lips are a tight line and he licks them quickly before speaking, his voice little more than a raspy croak.

"I can't. Feel like I'll just throw it all back up again, and you know how much I fucking _hate_ that."

Beyond being compulsive about hygiene, the very notion of vomiting makes humanity's strongest panic to a point of fury, and Petra knows this. She frowns and sits down on the chair by his bed, pulling the candle in closer. She reaches her hand out unsurely, stopping her fingers inches before his face as though she is unsure what to do with them.

"You have to eat. Your body can't heal if its crippled by starvation. I made this specially for you - please just try and eat some of it," she says, and taking a gulp, she closes the distance and allow her fingers to brush the sharp angle of his cheekbone, just below the dark hollows of tired eyes. Her voice is strained. "For me."

He glances at the bowl, looking exhausted and worried and she takes her hand away, lifting the broth and taking barely enough to cover the bottom of the spoon, blowing on it like one would for a child and guiding it to his lips carefully, deliberately. His eyes flicker to her desperate, searching ones for a moment, before he cracks open his dry lips and allows her to feed him the soup. He swallows, a look of discomfort on his face, but otherwise relaxes against the pillows as Petra smiles.

"That was good, Levi," she coos, and he is struck with a moment of sadness so rarely felt as she reminds him of his mother. He swallows back the emotion with another spoonful of soup and finds the taste much more bearable than he first expected. He finally sees her whole face, sees the trouble he has caused her, the worry etched into her normally delicate features, and he sips more soup.

"It's nice...Petra," he says softly, his voice tired and cracking but thankful nonetheless. She smiles, and it is one of her golden smiles all teeth and plump pink lips and he feels like an asshole for making her worry so much. She winks at him then, grinning instead of smiling and sets the soup bowl down.

"What, did you think it would be disgusting?" she asks him playfully to which he quirks a brow.

"Well, I wasn't going to mention Erd's birthday cake..."

She blushes at that, fiercely, and points the spoon at him in an accusatory stance.

"You're just a stupid, fussy moron, Levi," she says sharply, with a note of humour resting in the back of her tones. He quirks a smile then, a rare, half smile and she laughs, picking up the soup bowl once more before hesitating.

She leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead, soft and careful, before pulling back with her cheeks glowing an impressive red, even in the dim light of the candle.

She is magnificent to him.

"Dummy," she grumbles, shovelling more soup in his direction, her bottom lip jutting out in annoyance.

"You just care too much, idiot," he replies, sipping her soup and wondering what star in the sky he could possibly thank, for having Petra Ral eternally at his side.

* * *

 **Dorks, I love them.**


	7. Pucker

His eyes were dark as he shoved her down onto the stool beside the fire. She cringed when he paused briefly before unfastening the hooks of her 3DMG around her shoulders, and snapping it off her top half. He frowned at the blooming of blood that was bleeding into the white fabric of her shirt, from just below her collar bone up to her shoulder.

"Petra, I need you to take your shirt off if I'm going to sew up that wound."

She moaned in pain, glancing at him in alarm through half lidded eyes, her teeth clenched together as she fought off passing out from the stinging pain on her right side. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, cold sweat coming away and she swallowed.

"Don't know if I can, Levi. Just tear it, got others," she said, her teeth still solidly clenched. He didn't hesitate, kneeling down on his haunches and reaching up to tear the fabric around her shoulder away. He tore a strip of fabric from the collar of the shirt all the way down, careful to protect as much of her modesty as he could, watching a tiny peach blush prickle its way up her neck as the swell of her breast was exposed to him.

His mouth quirked wryly.

"Don't bite down too hard, you'll break a tooth," he said, moving from gazing at her to studying the jagged wound. He wasn't even sure how she had obtained it - one moment she had been flying through the air alongside him, the next, an abnormal had come from nowhere and Petra had been catapulted into a thicket of sharp branches and bristles. The wound was angry and red, puckering at the edges and he frowned deeply.

"Stay still, this is going to hurt," he said seriously, going into his pack and retrieving a vile of clear, strong alcohol. He poured a small portion onto his own hands, rubbing them together and wrinkling his nose in distaste at the fierce smell. He poured the rest onto a strip of fabric he had pulled from her shirt that wasn't dripping with gore already, before steadying himself, and slapping it down on Petra's wound.

She screamed, tears springing up in her eyes, and before he could stop her, she had gripped his arm with her good hand, and was leaning her head against his shoulder, sobbing through the agony.

"You're doing good, Petra," he assured her, his voice not comforting necessarily, but lacking that fierce edge it so often held. He reached into his pack and threading a needle swiftly, went to push her skin back together where it puckered open, gritting his own teeth in disgust. If there was one thing Levi Ackerman loathed, it was the irony smell blood left behind underneath his fingernails - it always took days to remove.

Petra's fingernails were digging into his arm, but he knew with each puncture of flesh he made to sew up her skin, a new wave of pain was crashing over her. He made soft shushing noises every so often as Petra's little moans of pain became few and far between. When he finished, he leant forth to snap the thread with his teeth, to avoid ripping her skin any further.

She let out a long, low breath that he hadn't realised she had been holding, before she slumped back in the stool, her eyes fluttering closed. She was pale and exhausted looking, and Levi wiped her blood from his hands swiftly on a few more strips of cloth. He paused before moving his hand to one of her cheeks, his palm resting softly against the curve, touching the soft freckles she had there.

He leaned up in one swift movement, and pressed his lips to her jaw first, then her lips, feeling the tension leave her body all at once, as her mouth moved into a weak smile. She opened her eyes and cleared her throat a little.

"Was I brave?" she asked, her voice croaky but holding a small laugh.

His lips are moments from her own as he lets out his own sigh of relief that she is safe, healing, close to him once more.

"Very brave," he breathed, pausing to her kiss her lips gently once more.


End file.
